Born Hungry for Stories Before she can speak, an infant's cry expresses her yearning. A loving voice swaddles the new soul. The words may come with music or the mere sound of turning pages, but they capture her heart and mind either way. The child quiets, listens, grows calm. As if…
Rayanna crushed the gas pedal. The thuds of huge paws struck the trunk and their claws screamed against the cruiser's paint. After a quarter mile, the snarls and roaring barks faded into the distance behind them. Drifts of fog swept past the windows like phantoms as the squad car barreled through…
Rayanna jammed the key into the squad car's ignition. Grantham dove into the seat behind her as voracious snarls neared his doorway and overtook the waking engine's whine. She twisted to glance back. The officer croaked, "Go." Arms smeared in muck and blood, he slammed his door with a crunch and…
A wisp of smoke curled from the fireplace and traced the storyteller's jawline. Reeve sucked his crooked teeth as he surveyed the writhing flames. "There's critters born tender as kittens. But earth's foul air can poison things. So a purr can't be trusted. At any moment, a sweet-sounding thing'll carve your…
Between her shoulder blades, hairs prickled up her spine to the nape of her neck. Rayanna shuddered under the grizzled hunter's glare and forced herself to sit in the unsteady rocker. "If I don't know my story, how can I ..." She hesitated, regretting the impulse to blurt her concern aloud.…
The dank air clamped its chilling grip onto Rayanna's raw arms. She cast furtive glances into the rustling forest. And at him. He maintained a lead of no more than ten feet, every step of his boot hitting the earth with sure footing. Her own soles slid on the undulating, narrow…
Allow me to welcome distinguished author, Kat Heckenbach as today's guest post contributor. I recommend her writing to avid readers of speculative fiction, and look forward to each new release. When I started writing Relent, I used the working title Guilty. My goal was to show that anyone, no matter how…
Hickory and poultry scents wove through the neighborhood's brisk air as Amber lifted her cherub-faced daughter from the car. White flecks floated aimlessly on the breeze, dotting their cheeks with chilly kisses. A flake landed on Angela's long, dark lashes. "Whassat?" She blinked at her mother and pointed a chubby finger…
A cramp seized Amber's belly. Pain shot through her core. Her knees crumpled, but she clutched the counter in either side of her register. The life within her writhed. Gut, hips, and low back burned all at once. Not yet. She grit her teeth through the vice of tension. Exhaled. Steadied herself.…
A chill radiated from the kitchen window and prickled the hairs on Amber's arms. Her numb fingers fumbled. She managed to press a tack through the jersey sheet. As she stretched to affix her makeshift drape in the top corner, her pregnant belly bumped to a halt against the icy tile…